Perfect
by PADavis
Summary: One shot. Yet another coda for No Rest for the Wicked. AU. Sam doesn’t miss his opportunity this time. Some language.


Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All characters belong to the CW and Kripke Scrap Metal and Entertainment Company.

A/N: Spur of the moment post. Just wanted to throw one more NRFTW tag into the ring. No beta, I'm on my own, God help us all. Watching the episode for the fifth time, I found myself screaming at the television. You'll guess what in a moment. My first tag - you can blame this on Muffy Morrigan.

* * *

Sam stood. He didn't know how or why, but he could stand. He was fine. He wasn't even sore. He stood and towered over the blonde haired meat suit. She backed away, clearly terrified – of him.

Perfect.

"Back. I said back."

Nothing happened. He glanced down, and without taking his eyes off her, stooped to pick up the knife.

He pushed words out, hissing them past his clenched teeth.

"I don't think so."

Stepping forward, he raised the knife and drove it toward her heart with all the strength of his body.

She threw her head back, screaming, a stream of black smoke gushing toward the ceiling.

He pulled the thrust, hesitating for a split second. She was getting _away_.

Not perfect.

He brought his left hand up so fast and so hard he felt her jaw break as her mouth snapped shut. He held it closed. No more smoke. She was trapped. Her eyes, filmy white, opened wide. Terrified – of him. Blood dripped from her nose. A good look for her.

Perfect.

He brought the knife up under her ribcage and through her heart in one smooth, savage, furious thrust, just like Dad and Dean had taught him.

Sparks flew, her skull visible under the skin, white eyes turning red, then black, then oozed and dripped down her face. He was never eating tapioca again. The body seized stiff and dropped like a log to the carpet, bounced once.

He stooped again to retrieve the knife, wiping that blood off next to the other demon blood on his sleeve.

"I said, I don't think so."

His eyes were drawn inexorably to his brother's shredded body. Sobbing, he knelt, lifting Dean's shoulders to cradle him in his arms. He looked down into Dean's still face and lifeless eyes.

"I did it, Dean, I killed her. You can come back now. I own your contract and I'm calling it in."

He heard someone behind him, and he heard Bobby say, "Oh, God, Dean".

He shook Dean's body gently. "Did you hear me, Dean? I own your contract, and I'm calling it in. You don't get to stay in Hell, you have to come back here." He wiped his eyes.

Dean's head lolled away from him, eyes blank.

Not perfect.

He shook his brother harder.

"You don't get out of this one, you hear me. You don't get out of this. You come back here right now, Dean. I give the orders around here today." He shouted, channeling their father. "Front and center, Winchester!"

Bobby touched his shoulder. "Sam…"

Shrugging him off, Sam screamed in Dean's face, and slapped him, smearing blood on his cheek. "Live, god damn you Dean, live!"

For a shuddering moment, he thought time had stopped. He couldn't breath, think, blink. No air, no noise, the only thing in the world was his brother's face. The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

Dean's pupils dilated. His eyelids twitched. He winced. His body jackknifed out of Sam's arms as he took a sobbing breath, then another. Sam laid him back, pushing his folded jacket against Dean's chest, pressing down, trying to staunch the new flow of blood.

"Bobby, call 911." Low, urgent. Bobby didn't move fast enough. "Call 911 NOW." Bobby moved.

Dean's head rolled toward him. He blinked.

"Sam?" The word was no more than a breath, a puff of air, the voice almost unrecognizable.

Perfect.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened. The pain had found him. He screwed up his eyes, hands and arms twitching uncontrollably, his right heel drummed against the floor. Sam watched as tears started dripping down his brother's face. He continued to press down, even when Dean screamed.

He could hear sirens.

"Dean, hey, man, listen, there's an ambulance coming. It's here. You're going to be fine."

A whisper. "Lilith?"

"Dead and gone. And I promise, no matter what, if she does come back, Ruby is never getting within ten feet of me again. I learned my lesson."

Dean's body was still jerking slightly, his fingers splaying out over and over. He cracked his eyes open, brilliant green eyes, looking up at his brother.

Slightly louder, raspy, "Dad or me?"

Sam stared at Dean, not comprehending. Then it hit him. He huffed out a laugh.

"You taught me that, Dean. Kill fucking skank demon whores, don't talk to them."

He could see the left side of Dean's mouth quirk up. His eyes slipped shut, and his head rolled loosely over to rest on Sam's chest. He was unconscious but alive.

Bobby was opening the door to the EMTs. Dean was breathing. Dean was back. The deal was done. He would never go to Hell again.

Perfect.


End file.
